


A Shroud of Fire

by Mad_Mage



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Growling Lannisters, Happy Ending, Hear me purr, Irritated big cats, Jealousy, Older Man/Younger Woman, Prophecy, Protectiveness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:49:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29183562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Mage/pseuds/Mad_Mage
Summary: Tywin was not a man to waste time. Now that he was aware what Lady Sansa wanted from him – and what he wanted from her – acting according to their wishes was simple.---A one-shot featuring a certain growling lion, a cunning little lady, and one pesky prophecy that might or might not lead to happily ever after.
Relationships: Joanna Lannister/Tywin Lannister, Tywin Lannister/Sansa Stark
Comments: 22
Kudos: 149





	A Shroud of Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Nothing’s mine, I’m just a poor mad mage.  
> \---  
> Hello and welcome to my newest one shot! What can I say? I was in serious need of writing a new Ty/Sansa story and couldn’t resist *grins* Have fun :)

** Part I  
**

Tywin opened his eyes slowly. For a brief moment, he felt disoriented, his vision blurry. Then he could recognize shapes in the dark, a dimly lit hut with herbs hanging from the wooden ceiling. The air was cold yet heavy with the smell of burnt wood.

“Finally awake, m’lord?” A woman’s voice floated to him and Tywin sat up abruptly. As soon as he did, pain erupted behind his eyelids and he touched his brow, groaning. 

“Careful there, you had a nasty tumble down the hill.” The voice now sounded slightly amused and Tywin forced himself to breathe through the pain and nausea. It took him much longer than he’d like. Eventually, he turned around to locate the owner of the voice – and his savior.

“Where am I?” he asked shortly as he fingered the cut on his forehead.

The woman – rather young to be living alone in the woods – was sitting in the deepest shadows on the other end of the hut. A dying fire was slowly flicking out of existence between them, washing her face in an eerie reddish glow. Her eyes were bright, unnaturally so, and she was watching him with a fearful expression.

“In my humble home, m’lord,” she said, shrinking further into the shadows. Every trace of her amusement was gone and Tywin took a long breath through his nose. It wasn’t his intention to frighten the woman but ever since he had drowned the Reynes, his subjects trod rather carefully around him.

He looked around again. The hut had no door and he could see that there were trees outside. He tried to remember where he had been before his ‘tumble down the hill,’ but his memories were scattered.

Closing his eyes, Tywin concentrated.

He had been going home, to Casterly Rock, urging his horse to hurry, leaving his company behind. Joanna had pleaded with him to be present for the birth and Tywin could not deny her whatever comfort his presence would bring her. They were going to welcome another Lannister into the world… and yes, there had been a deer bursting through the foliage and startling his horse. The large white charger had reared and had thrown him off. Had Lord Tywin Lannister truly fallen off his horse because of a deer? Steffon would laugh his head off when he heard that. Tywin hated when people laughed at him, but Lord Baratheon was perhaps one of the few who could get away with it. Tywin knew a great deal about Steffon’s drunken misadventures to keep the Lion of Lannister amused for weeks in return.

Then the realization hit. He was late for the birth.

“The little lion hasn’t come yet,” said the woman softly.

Startled, Tywin snapped his head in her direction and glowered. “What?”

“He’s still in her mother’s womb,” she explained. Her eyes glittered and a flash of uneasiness crossed her face. “There is time yet to go see her.”

Tywin narrowed his eyes and glanced around once more. He knew exactly where he was. There was a witch in the woods around Casterly Rock, a few miles from the northern gate. The villagers came to see her when they wanted to know what the gods had in store for them, or when they needed potions and ointments. His maester had been offended by the witch’s very presence so close to the castle but Tywin had decided to let her stay.

Then he finally processed what she had said. 

“You see the future.” It was not a question, exactly, but he wanted to know if there was some truth to her words. “My wife will give birth to a boy?”

The witch nodded and whispered, “Yes, m’lord. A little, little lion in a cloak of red.”

“How do you know?” Tywin rose to his feet, very carefully. His head spun for only a moment. That was good.

“It’s all in the blood. It speaks the truth.” Her eyes were wide. She suddenly looked frightened and Tywin frowned, uncertain where all the fear was coming from when she muttered again, “Blood. Everywhere.”

A hunting horn sounded quite close by, derailing those thoughts. His men were certainly searching for him and he needed to get to the castle. Tywin could come back and question the witch later if there would be a boy. Prophecies were tricky things, though, and the young lord was not going to put too much trust in them.

“What is your name?” he asked as he was searching for his money pouch.

“They call me Maggy, m’lord. Maggy the Frog.”

“Well then, thank you for your assistance, Maggy the Frog.” Tywin crossed to her, ignored the way she shrunk away from him, and offered her the pouch. Their gazes met and the witch swallowed heavily, keeping herself silent and unmoving as if she truly faced a prowling lion.

Tywin snorted and let the gold fall to the ground, turning on his heel and leaving the hut in search of his incompetent men. They hopefully hadn’t gotten lost themselves in the woods.

***

It was only several hours later when Tywin stumbled into the hut again, covered with blood.

_ Blood everywhere. A little lion. A cloak of red. Blood everywhere _ .

His mind was stuck on those images, those words. He felt broken and wished it was wine flowing through his veins, not blood, and silence echoing in his mind, not Joanna’s screams. But he wasn’t drunk, not nearly enough, and he felt and thought and was alive while his wife, his beloved Joanna was-

He choked and crashed to his knees in front of the fire, breathing heavily. He had arrived home just to see his wife one last time before it all… It all just…

When Tywin closed his eyes, he saw Joanna’s empty gaze, pale face smeared with red, and despair seized his heart. When he opened his eyes, all he could see back at the castle were remainders of a life that could never be the same. He had lost… Everything.

Tywin roared. There weren't words, just howls of a mortally wounded animal. With one hand clenched into a fist over his heart – his heart that could possibly never beat again – Tywin rocked back and forth, fighting the overwhelming urge to give the world some of his pain.

The witch was there, sitting on her bedrolls, shaking in fright. Tywin ignored her for the longest of time and when he finally looked at her, he snarled. 

“You see the future.” His voice, when he finally could speak words, was hoarse. Had he come to rip her apart? Tywin wasn’t sure as he tasted blood on his tongue. His own or his wife’s he wasn’t sure either. “Tell me, will you live through this night?”

Maggy the Frog was too frightened to speak. He wanted to hear his answer. He wanted to understand the future. Was there anything that he could have done to prevent Joanna’s death? Or had it been all set in stone? Tywin inelegantly rose and staggered to her, unsheathing his sword, the blade gleaming in the semidarkness.

Aiming the tip at the woman’s throat, he hissed, “Will you live through this night? Answer me!”

Maggy did something Tywin wasn’t expecting. She pressed against the blade slightly, drawing blood. Then she dipped her finger in it and brought it to her lips.

Swallowing, she closed her eyes. Her shoulders tensed and relaxed. Looking up at him again, she very carefully placed her fingertips on the tip of Tywin’s sword and pushed it away.

“I will, m’lord.” She was still frightened but she was also confident. Her gaze was solemn.

Tywin’s hands were shaking and he dropped the weapon. “Why won’t I kill you?”

“Because I’ll tell you your future. Three questions, three answers.”

He sat down heavily across from Maggy, his eyes never leaving hers. His future? Tywin wasn’t interested in knowing it. He couldn’t imagine the world without his wife in it. It would be bleak. It would be meaningless. What… what good could await him in the years to come?

But then he remembered Jaime’s pleading voice calling for him, Cercei’s huge tearful gaze. The children needed their father. Casterly Rock needed its lord. There was a future for Tywin, and he had to make sure he’d build something for his children, something that wouldn’t be possible to take away from them so easily.

“You need my blood? How much?” he asked gruffly.

“A drop only.”

Tywin reached for the blade and cut open his palm without care. The sting of it was nothing compared to the crippling pain he felt inside. Raising his arm, he offered his blood to the witch.

Maggy looked at it for a moment and then she grabbed his wrist and brought his hand closer, licking at the blood pooling in his palm.

“Three questions, m’lord.” Her voice sounded distant, throaty.

The young Lord of Casterly Rock hesitated momentarily, unsure now that the time to ask his questions came. His heart bled and Tywin wasn’t sure it was possible to survive it. A part of him did not want to.

His mind, on the other hand, was firmly focused on the duty he had to his family as the Lord Lannister. He had fought so hard to make their name matter again, to command respect among the great houses – not for himself, but his children so that Jaime one day wouldn’t have to listen to that mocking laughter as Tywin had been forced to once upon a time. No one would dare to breathe a word against the Lannisters as long as they remain strong.

“My family,” Tywin started as the faces of his children flashed in front of his eyes. Would Jaime grow up to be a powerful knight as he wished? Would Cersei marry the prince? And the dwarf… would the creature even survive into adulthood? Why Tywin even cared was beyond him. He should have drowned that thing, and yet… Joanna had so wanted him to take care of the child… “What will become of my family?”

“Your name will never be forgotten. While the flesh rots in the ground, the family name lives on. Yours will for a thousand years.”

Tywin bowed his head. It wasn’t the answer he was hoping for but he hadn’t asked the question he had wanted. For their family name to live on, though, Jaime must grow up to have children. For their legacy to last for a thousand years, those children must be clever and strong, lions among sheep. That was a comforting thought, a worthwhile goal.

He could live for that, he supposed. If he must. With that, the pain threatened to overwhelm him and Tywin clenched his jaw and curled his hand into a fist, watching the blood seep through his fingers and drip to the ground.

“Will the pain ever stop?” Those words slipped out before Tywin could think better of them. He tightened his fist, hissing as the physical pain intensified.

“A heart of ice does not ache; it does not feel joy either, it is just cold and unfeeling day after day. Yes, your pain will give way to frost.”

His future was bleak indeed. Even now the memories of soft laughter and gentle touch were fading like a short sweet dream in the morning light. Tywin did not want to let go of it, of her. He could not. Joanna had been his everything and he already felt only half of the man he had been just a few short hours ago; a shadow of his old self.

“Will I see her again?” he whispered brokenly. The thought that he would not was too much to contemplate. Tywin hoped to see his wife once more.

Maggy stayed silent for a long moment, forcing Tywin to look at her. The witch was shaking her head mutely, her expression conveying all the meaningless compassion she had to offer. Well, Tywin did not care for a stranger’s pity and he heaved to his feet just as she moved to touch his forearm.

“What?”

She snatched her hand away at his growl and cradled it close to her chest, looking up at him with that damnable sympathy still.

“You won’t ever see _her_ , but I saw another; a maid in a shroud of fire that will melt away the ice.”

“Nonsense.” That suggestion enraged him. Tywin reached for his sword and sheathed it, his hands slick with fresh blood. He took a deep calming breath and shook his head, already feeling his heart turning to stone at the realization that his wife was gone. There was nothing he could do about it. There was no chance of ever seeing her again. And the very idea of _another_? He snorted. Joanna had been the only thing he had ever wanted – selfishly, desperately. He had almost killed the king for her, so deep was his devotion and need to protect her.

There wasn’t going to be a woman that would stir in him the same feelings his Joanna had. Wedding another would be too cruel for Lord Lannister couldn’t imagine ever loving someone else but his late wife, not even this maid of fire. Better not to waste breath on foolish hopes. Hope was a jagged, brittle, painful thing.

** Part II  
**

It was the sobbing that had alerted him. The sound was quite muffled but it still managed to reach his ears as Tywin was leaving the Tower of the Hand. Lord Lannister nodded at two of his guards, adjusted the sword at his side and the three men hurried through the shrubbery.

The sight that greeted Tywin’s eyes knocked the breath out of him.

Two members of the Kingsguard were beating a noble lady right there, in a corner of the garden secluded from prying eyes and ears by nothing but a few pretty blooming bushes.

She was kneeling on the ground in front of a stone bench, hands tightly clasped in an iron grip of Ser Boros while Ser Meryn was hitting the lady with the blunt of his sword. The woman’s dress was torn from her shoulders, exposing her bare back that was littered with bruises and small bleeding cuts. She did not plead with them but muted cries escaped her throat, so acute and heartbreaking that Tywin felt immediately compelled to act.

Tywin felt his usual expression of calm crack further and he gripped the handle of his sword firmly as he marched forward.

“What is the meaning of this?” he barked, drew the weapon, and promptly blocked Meryn’s blade with his own. Swiftly disarming the knight, Tywin lightly rested the point of his sword against the man’s breastplate, very close to his unprotected neck.

“Well?” Tywin growled. Did he have to repeat himself? He hoped that not all of his grandson’s guards were this slow.

“My lord!” Boros Blount released the woman’s wrists and stepped back, raising his hands in surrender. 

“Mercy, my lord!” Meryn Trant swallowed and withered under Tywin’s frosty glare, dropping to his knees. 

“I was not going to slaughter you, you idiot. Move.” Tywin gave the knight a look and sheathing his sword, stepped between him and the still kneeling woman.

Gods, the cuts would require the attention of a maester. Tywin swallowed his rage at the treatment of a lady and forced himself to take a closer look. Some bruises and cuts were fresh, some were a few days old. Some were yellowish and fading, indicating that this was a normal occurrence. She was very young, Lord Lannister realized next as he observed the column of her neck. Her hair was a startling shade of red that gave him a pause as a terrible suspicion entered his mind.

Madness and stupidity were in abundance in the capital, it seemed.

Softening his voice as much as he was able under the circumstances, he asked, “May I offer my assistance, my lady?”

Lady Sansa shivered in the warm air and bowed her head, several strands of hair escaping her complicated hairstyle. While she had knelt there with her head proudly raised, back straight just moments ago, now she seemed to shrink on herself.

Tywin felt oddly unsettled by the gesture. He was a lord and a knight and his honor forbade him ever striking a defenseless woman. Unclasping his cloak, he placed it around her shoulders gently, rearranging it so it touched the open wounds as little as possible.

“Lady Sansa, can you hear me?” he asked slowly and moved around to face her.

She was facing the ground and Tywin felt his patience evaporating at an alarming rate. Biting back a growl, he pulled off his glove and placed his forefinger under her chin. Applying gentle pressure, he forced her face up.

Tywin’s heart lurched when their eyes met. The expression in her gaze was empty, devoid of emotions, expectations, life. Her pale cheeks were smeared with blood. For a moment, he was transported back in time to that horrible night and another beautiful woman with empty eyes and cheeks stained with crimson.

Like his Joanna, the girl was gone, somewhere where pain could not follow.

Sansa Stark’s heart might beat but there was no life in her, just acceptance of all the horrifying things that had happened to her.

It was unacceptable.

Forcing himself to breathe, Tywin placed his palm against the girl’s cheek, wiping away the tears with his thumb. Her skin was smooth and felt cold; another terrible similarity. However, unlike his beloved wife, Lady Sansa blinked and her eyes sharpened, focused on him at that touch.

Awareness entered her expression and she quickly realized where she was and with whom. The change was so swift that Tywin didn’t doubt that Lady Sansa had often gotten lost inside of her mind to escape whatever was happening to her.

“There you are, Lady Sansa,” he said almost warmly as her eyes darted quickly across his face. His other hand grasped Sansa’s elbow and he helped her to her feet. “Come now, let’s get those cuts attended to, shall we?”

“Thank you, my lord.” Lady Sansa faltered and Tywin was alarmed that her legs were not supporting her and moved to break her fall – only to realize that she had dropped into a curtsey and was rising on her own quite well.

It had brought him rather close to her, though, and Tywin did the only thing that would save his dignity at that point. Linking their arms, he watched as a fleeting expression of surprise flitted across her face before it was replaced by a demure mask. “Oh.”

She placed her hand on his forearm and then moved to adjust his sleeve without a thought. It was something she had done a thousand times for others who had offered her their arms – and yet it was a gesture that floored Tywin for the last person who had bothered with such detail had been his wife.

“Ser Meryn, Ser Boros,” he addressed the knights. As he spoke, there was no trace of warmth in his voice at all. “If I ever see you disrespecting a lady in such a manner again, I will have your heads removed.” 

“But my lord, the king-”

“I speak for the king.” Tywin was already leading Lady Sansa through the garden and didn’t further acknowledge the two Kingsguards. One of his guards gathered Lady Sansa’s embroidery from the bench and the men took their places at either side of the pair. They were on their way without any further drama.

Lord Lannister was curious about the incident and all the incidents that had preceded it but he was unsure if question the girl would be a good idea. Cersei had reassured him that Lady Sansa was nothing but a simple girl. For someone of Sansa’s beauty, the lack of intelligence was not a hindrance but a bonus. Shallow wives were easily amused with pretty baubles.

“What were you doing in the garden?” Tywin eventually settled on asking.

Lady Sansa glanced at him, then glanced around and her expression shifted into one of a simpering dolt as she answered, “His Grace is so very generous, my lord, to allow me the use of the beautiful gardens of the keep whenever I wish to take a stroll.”

“Unguarded?” His voice was sharper than Tywin intended but letting the only leverage against Robb Stark wander around the Red Keep as she pleased was stupid. Not only someone else could hurt her but Sansa could easily get kidnapped or try to run away.

“Oh, I have nothing to fear, my lord, I am under King Joffrey’s protection. He is even kind enough to offer me the company of his most trusted Kingsguards…” Lady Sansa continued to blabber without even the briefest hesitation. 

“Yes, I could see that,” growled Tywin a caught the slightest smile tugging at Lady Sansa’s lips in response. 

“They seem to always find me,” she said. For a brief moment, their eyes met and Tywin was startled by the intensity that flashed in Sansa’s gaze. She wanted him to understand, desperately wanted him to know the whole truth but would not speak it openly. “Today was the first time they came across my most favorite place in the garden. It was such a nice surprise! The feeling of His Grace’s care is both welcome and soothing. It’s more than a traitor’s daughter like myself deserves.”

Tywin was glad that Lady Sansa realized that there were eyes and ears everywhere in the complex. He had no idea where her chambers were so he subtly slowed and then came to a stop when they reached a crossroads.

“This way, my lord.” Her voice didn’t sound as young as she looked and Tywin found himself observing her profile from the corner of his eye as she led him through the main building of the keep. Her cheek was coloring, too. It would be an ugly shade of purple come morning.

“You have my word it won’t happen again.” There honestly wasn’t any other acceptable reaction, Tywin supposed. It was something any lord worthy of his knighthood would do.

“Thank you, my lord. I appreciate your kind interference.” Heaving a sigh of relief, her steps even momentarily faltered and Lady Sansa leaned into Tywin for support. She didn’t question his power as other dim-witted courtiers might have done in her place. She simply accepted his protection with gratitude. Tywin felt smugly pleased by the fact. The girl – well, young woman, he corrected himself – understood who truly held the power in King’s Landing and was intelligent enough to seek his help.

He would have to keep an eye on Lady Sansa. Not only because there was much more to her than the ‘traitor’s daughter’ drivel, no. Tywin remembered well how difficult could a position of a lady be at a mad king’s court. It seemed that he needed to have a word with his children and grandchildren. Again.

Lord Lannister, however, chose not to dwell too long on the reasons why he had a vested interest in the girl’s continued safety and well-being and ignored the way his heart shuddered painfully at the very thought of Lady Sansa being harmed.

***

The next few weeks found Tywin busy with his duties. The crown was in crippling debt, the city was half-starved, his daughter liked to drink and bemoan her fate, his sons rebelled as usual and his grandson had abused the only thing capable of bringing about a ceasefire with the Northmen. Tywin sometimes seriously doubted that Maggy the Frog’s prophecy would ever come true. At the rate his children were undoing all of his hard work, there wouldn’t be much left of the Lannister name after Tywin’s passing.

That day, Tywin found a moment to take a break from work only after it was too late to eat breakfast and too early to demand lunch. Rubbing at his temples, he left the Tower of the Hand to stretch his legs and they promptly brought him to the exact spot where he had first met Lady Sansa almost a month ago.

Tywin hadn’t had the opportunity to talk to her – they exchanged only polite greetings whenever they happened to meet, which wasn’t all that often. The Lord Hand caught a glimpse of her almost every day, though. These instances then forced him to think about her for minutes afterward. She never looked freshly beaten, thank the gods. Some days, she was pale and withdrawn while others she appeared tranquil and there was a small, secretive smile on her face. What did she think about? Her family? Happier days of her childhood? Handsome knights like Ser Loras?

Those thoughts should not be assaulting Tywin so often and for so long. Lady Sansa, however, seemed to rule over his conscious mind these days. In retaliation for that, Tywin had made it his business to have Sansa watched by his men day and night – for her protection and his peace of mind, visits with the Tyrells had been greatly limited.

Tywin was begrudgingly impressed by her survival tactics. Lady Sansa always seemed to know exactly what to say and to whom so she would be left mostly alone. She never slipped, unfailingly polite and seemingly loyal to the crown. 

She had managed to fool everyone that she was a simple-minded little dove. Well, almost anyone. He knew what a lion in sheep’s clothing looked like. A wolf, in her case, he snorted and then clenched his jaw. It was making Tywin uncomfortable, this… fascination he had developed with the girl.

Joffrey had tried only once to whine about Tywin’s decision to keep Lady Sansa out of harm’s way. The king had gone to bed without supper – and wine – that night. Lannister blood or not, Robert’s ineptness to rule was quite strong in the young king. Tywin wasn’t an idiot – a king who had brought the realm into civil wars would not stay a king for too long. Sooner or later, someone would try to kill Joffrey and it was improbable that the boy would survive more than one or two assassination attempts. Lord Lannister needed to win the game of thrones for his family – and quickly.

Tommen would rule in King’s Landing with a Tyrell bride. He was a shy but intelligent boy. With the right guidance, he would make an adequate king.

Myrcella’s marriage would keep the Dornish under a certain amount of control.

Cersei’s future children would further secure the Reach – and once there were heirs, Tywin was certain that Lady Olenna would be much more genuinely interested in keeping said heirs in lines of inheritance.

Now, the truly urgent matter was the North and the Riverlands. As long as they rebelled, the realm would remain fractured. As long as the realm remained fractured, they were easy prey for an invasion from Essos.

In the long run, securing the North was of the utmost importance and there was only one way how to do that. It all led back to the woman. She was a noble lady of a suitable bloodline, beautiful and intelligent who was and would stay her brother’s only lawful heir. Tywin had made sure of that the moment the young fool had bedded Lady Jeyne. The North would be secured by Lady Sansa’s children.

Tywin sat heavily onto the bench and closed his eyes, head tilted toward the sun. Here he was again, thinking about Lady Sansa once more in a place that reminded him of her the most.

It was such a pity that House Lannister didn’t have a worthy son to offer to the northern lady. A lesser Lannister would only offend her brother. The image of Lady Sansa at the arm of that fool Lancel was laughable. No, Tywin certainly would not marry her into a cadet branch of the family. That left his sons and he grimaced.

Tyrion was out of the question. Tywin wanted to offer peace to the Northmen, not insults. Joanna’s youngest had spent his whole life whoring around and yet never produced a single bastard – which was a small blessing in itself. Lady Sansa would not stand to be tied to a drunken whoremonger such as Tyrion any more than Tywin would.

That left Jaime and Lord Lannister sighed. He would be a splendid match for Lady Sansa. Tywin had already tried to convince his eldest son to accept his rightful place as the heir to Casterly Rock many times but perhaps the idea of wedding such a beauty would finally tempt Jaime to put his golden cloak aside.

Their children would be certainly beautiful if a bit slow. Tywin smirked at his thoughts. Jaime – or any man, for that matter – would not have any troubles putting a child in her.

Tywin well remembered the smoothness of Lady Sansa’s skin and he couldn’t stop himself from wondering how soft could be the touch of her hand. He could imagine the gentle brush of her fingertips across his brows, hesitant at first but growing bolder. A palm cradling his jaw tenderly, silken lips brushing against his while Tywin’s hands grasped the nape of her neck, his fingers tangling in her fiery tresses…

The guards snapped to attention.

Tywin scowled – both at the disturbance and his selfish thoughts – and turned to look toward the path. His heart started hammering almost painfully in his chest when he recognized his visitors.

Lady Sansa was walking toward him as if he had summoned her with his musings. She carried a basket covered in cloth and her handmaiden trailed after her with another one, looking slightly uncomfortable.

Ah, yes, that was Tyrion’s whore whom Tywin had forbidden to come to the capital. Now, that was a thought that drove any pleasantness out of his mind and Tywin fought to keep his face neutral.

Unobtrusively, a pair of Lannister men rounded the corner as well and offered their salutes.

“Lady Sansa.” Tywin rose to his feet gracefully and offered her a small bow. He was unexpectedly pleased to see her from such a short distance – and equally annoyed at himself for feeling like that. However, it didn’t stop Tywin from trailing his gaze down her lithe figure circumspectly. The dress had seen much better days and it appeared too small for the woman but otherwise, she seemed to be in one piece.

“My lord, I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” Sansa said and curtseyed, eyes demurely averted.

“Yes, this is your favorite part of the garden, isn’t it?” He refrained from saying that perhaps Sansa’s fondness for the spot was one of the reasons why he was there. Reaching for the basket instead, Tywin took a look at its contents. “Were you planning to have a picnic?”

“Indeed, my lord.” There was a faint smile hiding at the corners of her lips and when she finally looked up to his face, it blossomed fully. “Perhaps you would like to join me?”

Momentarily struck speechless by the piercing beauty of Lady Sansa’s smile, Lord Lannister nodded. Silently, he gestured toward the bench and Sansa sat, while he hovered over her with the basket in his hands like a fool, searching for something to say. He should seize this opportunity and inform the lady of her impending marriage to a man of Tywin’s careful choosing. Of course, that idea hardly sat comfortably with him and he struggled to find the necessary resolve. He hadn’t been this tongue-tied since he was a small boy and perhaps not even then.

“Maybe we could eat on the grass, my lord? I brought a blanket and there’s a nice spot right under the tree over there,” she said after a moment, sparing him the suffering.

Tywin bristled at the light, almost teasing tone she had used and glanced at her sharply. Sansa was looking down at her folded hands, still smiling slightly. Then, as if she felt his gaze on her, she lifted her head.

“I would like to thank you from the bottom of my heart, my lord, for all you have done for me.” The bruises on her cheek were already gone, only a shadow of them remained. “Your guards especially made me feel much better wandering the keep.”

The simpering stupidity she used as a shield was completely absent from her voice. Lady Sansa was genuine.

“Have there been any incidents?” Tywin asked sharply and nodded at his men to go and unfold the blanket where Lady Sansa wanted it placed.

“No, but I have seen some of the Kingsguards watching me from afar.”

“Good, they should know better than to approach.” Tywin hesitated before offering Sansa his arm again. She rose from the bench, linked their arms with a small smile, and adjusted his sleeve again. He escorted her toward the blanket and made sure she was seated comfortably before he too sank down.

The handmaid hurried over with her basket, pulling out carafes with light fruity wine and water and empty cups. She started to fuss with other dishes but Tywin waved her away with a glare. He then proceeded to fill up a plate for Lady Sansa and offered it to her with the assurance that she was going to accept it.

Sansa did with a blinding smile and Tywin only then realized that he had not applied such courtly manners to his interactions with ladies since his Joanna’s passing. It had seemed so natural that he had not even stopped to think about it. Resisting the urge to rub at his foolishly thumping heart, the Lord Hand changed topics.

“How is your back, my lady? Are you recovering?”

“I am much better. Maester Pycelle seems certain it won’t even leave too noticeable scars.”

“He has checked the wounds more than once?” Tywin was rather surprised by that, Pycelle was not the type of man to take initiative and Lord Lannister had not asked him to oversee Lady Sansa’s recovery. 

“Oh, of course, he was very… helpful.”

Lord Lannister did not like the slight waver in Lady Sansa’s voice. It was more likely than not that Pycelle had spent most of the time ogling the young woman in her state of undress than actually being helpful. Tywin clenched his jaw and looked over the garden in silence, his ire rising. Cersei disliked every medical visit she had had to suffer through with the old lecher. Perhaps Tyrion had been right to have Pycelle thrown in the cells.

Lady Sansa put down her plate, eyes trained at his scowling profile. Very slowly, she raised her hand and touched his forearm. Tywin startled and snapped his attention back to her.

“There is no reason for further concern, my lord. I told Maester Pycelle that while very much appreciated, his help wouldn’t be needed anymore,” she told him soothingly in a reassuring tone of voice that Tywin had heard once before. _While very flattering, King Aerys’s attention is not welcome_.

There was a disarming quality in that kind of honesty, in the naked, simple truth of the matter. It was less like a bolt from the blue, this realization, and more like all the pieces of the puzzle finally clicking together.

Lady Sansa understood men and she could play them like a fiddle. She had been playing _him_ like a fiddle, stirring up long-forgotten instincts and behaviors, testing his reactions, and observing everything he had said and done.

By the look on her face, she was pleased by what she had seen so far. Tywin wondered if his interest had been obvious to her even before he could recognize the attraction himself. But this was more than a mere physical attraction, more than a wish to sample an exceptional beauty. He was intrigued by her obvious cunning, and she evoked in him the same feelings his beloved wife had once. Gallantry, protectiveness, warmth. Those parts Tywin had thought to be dead and buried with Joanna. He could not afford to be selfish now. Lady Sansa was born to rule a great castle, not to be anyone’s mistress. Or perhaps this was the second time in his life that Tywin should be selfish.

Perhaps in time, Lady Sansa would bring him even joy. Making that decision was rather simple. It seemed that Tywin had found a worthy Lannister for Lady Sansa and he was rather certain of one thing; _their_ children would not be too slow. No, their children would own the world.

“Good, I am glad we understand each other now.” Tywin was not a man to waste time. Now that he was aware what Lady Sansa wanted from him – and what he wanted from her – acting according to their wishes was simple. He took hold of her wrist and lifted her hand to his face, kissing her knuckles with care.

His actions brought a slight flush to Lady Sansa’s cheeks and sparks into her eyes that held a warm promise of their future together.

***

She wasn’t in their chambers when Tywin entered, but it had taken Lord Lannister only a few moments to locate his missing wife. Lady Lannister was leaning against the railing on their balcony, watching the sun sunk below the horizon. The last rays framed his wife in golden light while her fiery locks appeared to be made of fire.

“There you are, Sansa.” Tywin felt the last remains of tension leave his body as he approached and wrapped his wife in his arms. She was home, she was safe, and she was his. How he disliked to let her out of his sight – Tywin wasn’t sure how he could possibly ever survive his heart’s shattering if something happened to his second wife.

“I missed being home,” she said, leaning against him. “Gods know I love Winterfell dearly, but there is only one place I truly feel at home, safe and protected.”

“The balcony?” Tywin smirked, tilting his head to press a kiss against her temple.

“Your arms, you idiot.” Sansa smiled up at him as she turned in the embrace. Her hands cradled Tywin’s face, gentle and soothing, her fingertips skimming his furrowed brow, smoothing over the stubble on his jaw. Boldly, she stood on her tiptoes and brushed her silken lips against his as he buried his fingers in Sansa’s hair.

“I seem to be a bad influence on you. Lady Sansa Stark would surely not call anyone an idiot, let alone her lord husband.”

“Well, Lady Sansa Lannister is allowed to tease her husband as much as she pleases, isn’t she?” Sansa smirked up at him and Tywin’s lips twitched. He had missed his wife’s wit as well. That didn’t mean, of course, that Sansa would be the only one having all the fun. His arms tightened around her and Tywin dipped his head, chasing her laughing lips persistently.

“That she is,” he agreed readily. “But so am I.”

He silenced Sansa’s words with a long, deep kiss that left his little wife breathless and boneless. They might have decided to wed for purely practical reasons. He had offered Sansa protection and she had given him the North, but that didn’t mean that they did not bring each other joy and happiness, pleasure and love.

“Now tell me, how is my good-brother?” Tywin asked when he was certain Sansa could hear him.

“Are you seriously asking me about Robb? Now?” The note of disbelief in her voice brought another smile to Tywin’s lips. He hummed in agreement, planting open-mouthed kisses down her neck and on her collarbone.

“You are impossible!”

“Glad you noticed. Well? How is the honorable Robb Stark?”

“Tywin!” A light slap landed on his chest and Sansa pushed against him. “Very well, if you want to talk about my brother instead of welcoming me home properly, who am I to deny you?”

She started to squirm out of his arms only for Tywin to lift her in his arms.

“Impatient, aren’t we?” he asked and turned on his heel, disappearing inside their chambers. Relocating to a bed was probably a good idea because Lord Lannister had every intention of welcoming his lady wife home.

While she had already given him two beautiful children, there was always room for more. What better way to make sure Maggy the Frog’s prophecies would come true than populating the world with little roaring lions?

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my goodness, Ty as a young man was such a pleasant change! *giggles* I like the growly old lion but this was fun. It’s been a long time since I could focus on my favorite pairing and I’m glad I finally had the opportunity to do so. The idea popped into my head half-way through the last chapter for ‘Blood of the Wolf.’ (That one is finally finished and I’m letting it rest for a while before I go back and do some editing. It took a lot out of me and I think I died a little inside when I typed the last dot of that last chapter.)
> 
> I hope Ty wasn’t too much out of character. I’m pretty sure that the fact his wife had manipulated him into loving her made Ty love her even more *grins* AND the possibility of a litter of roaring lions, too… Let me please know if you liked the story, I feel a bit rusty writing Ty in all his growly glory *winks*
> 
> Stay safe and healthy and lots of love, Mage :)


End file.
